Today it was a few minutes after eleven by the large clock on the reading room wall when she entered, wearing a white fur coat and hat against the February cold. Lev repressed a shudder: he could not look at her without feeling again the sheer terror of a six-year-old seeing his father hanged.
The priest followed in a cream-colored robe with a gold sash. Today, for the first time, he was accompanied by another man in the garb of a novice priest-and Lev was shocked and horrified to recognize his former partner in crime Spirya.
Lev’s mind was in turmoil as the two clergymen prepared the five loaves and watered the red wine for the service. Had Spirya found God and changed his ways? Or was the clerical outfit just another cover for stealing and cheating?
The older priest sang the blessing. A few of the more devout men had formed a choir-a development their Welsh neighbors approved of heartily-and now they sang the first amen. Lev crossed himself when the others did, but his mind was anxiously on Spirya. It would be just like a priest to blurt out the truth and ruin everything: no more card games, no ticket to America, no money for Grigori.
Lev recalled the last day on the Angel Gabriel, when he had brutally threatened to throw Spirya overboard for merely talking about double-crossing him. Spirya might well remember that now. Lev wished he had not humiliated the man.
Lev studied Spirya throughout the service, trying to read his face. When he went up to the front to receive communion he tried to catch his old friend’s eye, but he saw no sign even of recognition: Spirya was totally caught up in the rite, or pretending to be.
Afterward the two clergy left in the car with the princess, and the thirty or so Russian Christians followed on foot. Lev wondered if Spirya would speak to him at Ty Gwyn, and fretted about what he might say. Would he pretend their scam had never happened? Would he spill the beans and bring the wrath of the miners down on Lev’s head? Would he demand a price for his silence?
Lev was tempted to leave town immediately. There were trains to Cardiff every hour or two. If he had had more money he might have cut and run. But he did not have enough for the ticket, so he trudged up the hill out of town to the earl’s palace for the midday dinner.
They were fed in the staff quarters below stairs. The food was hearty: mutton stew with as much bread as you could eat, and ale to wash it down. The princess’s middle-aged Russian maid, Nina, joined them and acted as interpreter. She had a soft spot for Lev, and made sure he got extra ale.
The priest ate with the princess but Spirya came to the servants’ hall and sat next to Lev. Lev turned on his most welcoming smile. “Well, old friend, this is a surprise!” he said in Russian. “Congratulations!”
Spirya refused to be charmed. “Are you still playing cards, my son?” he replied.
Lev kept the smile but lowered his voice. “I’ll shut up about that if you will. Is that fair?”
“We’ll talk after dinner.”
Lev was frustrated. Which way was Spirya going to jump-righteousness or blackmail?
When the meal was over, Spirya went out through the back door, and Lev followed. Without speaking, Spirya led him to a white rotunda like a miniature Greek temple. From its raised platform they could see anyone approaching. It was raining, and the water dripped down the marble pillars. Lev shook the rain off his cap and put it back on his head.
Spirya said: “Do you recall my asking you, on the ship, what you would do if I refused to give you your half of the money?”
Lev had pushed Spirya half over the rail and threatened to break his neck and throw his body in the sea. “No, I don’t remember,” he lied.
“It doesn’t matter,” Spirya said. “I simply wished to forgive you.”
Righteousness, then, Lev thought with relief.
“What we did was sinful,” Spirya said. “I have confessed and received absolution.”
“I won’t ask your priest to play cards with me, then.”
“Don’t joke.”
Lev wanted to grab Spirya by the throat, as he had on the ship, but Spirya no longer looked as if he could be bullied. The robe had given him balls, ironically.
Spirya went on: “I ought to reveal your crime to those you robbed.”
“They won’t thank you. They may take revenge on you as well as me.”
“My priestly garments will protect me.”
Lev shook his head. “Most of the people you and I robbed were poor Jews. They probably remember priests looking on with a smile while the Cossacks beat them up. They might kick you to death all the more eagerly in your robe.”
The shadow of anger passed over Spirya’s young face, but he forced a benign smile. “I’m more concerned about you, my son. I would not like to provoke violence against you.”
Lev knew when he was being threatened. “What are you going to do?”
“The question is what you’re going to do.”
“Will you keep your mouth shut if I stop?”
“If you confess, make a sincere contrition, and cease your sin, God will forgive you-and then it will not be for me to punish you.”
And you’ll get away with it too, Lev thought. “All right, I’ll do it,” he said. As soon as he had spoken, he realized he had given in too quickly.
Spirya’s next words confirmed that he was not so easily fooled. “I will check,” he said. “And if I find you have broken your promise to me and to God, I will reveal your crime to your victims.”
“And they will kill me. Good work, Father.”
“As far as I can see, it’s the best way out of a moral dilemma. And my priest agrees. So take it or leave it.”
“I have no choice.”
“God bless you, my son,” said Spirya.
Lev walked away.
He left the grounds of Ty Gwyn and headed through the rain back into Aberowen, fuming. How like a priest, he thought resentfully, to take away a man’s chance of bettering himself. Spirya was comfortable now, food and clothing and accommodation all provided, forever, by the church and the hungry worshippers who gave money they could not afford. For the rest of his life, Spirya would have nothing to do but sing the services and fiddle with the altar boys.
What was Lev to do? If he gave up the card games, it would take him forever to save enough for his passage. He would be doomed to spend years tending pit ponies half a mile underground. And he would never redeem himself by sending Grigori the price of a ticket to America.
He had never chosen the safe path.
He made his way to the Two Crowns pub. In Sabbath-observing Wales pubs were not allowed to open on Sundays, but the rules were lightly regarded in Aberowen. There was only one policeman in the town and, like most people, he took Sundays off. The Two Crowns closed its front door, for the sake of appearances, but regulars went in through the kitchen, and business was done as usual.
At the bar were the Ponti brothers, Joey and Johnny. They were drinking whisky, unusually. The miners drank beer. Whisky was a rich man’s potion, and a bottle probably lasted the Two Crowns from one Christmas to the next.
Lev ordered a pot of beer and addressed the elder brother. “Aye, aye, Joey.”
“Aye, aye, Grigori.” Lev was still using his brother’s name, which was on the passport.
“Feeling flush today, Joey, is it?”
“Aye. Me and the kid went to Cardiff yesterday for the boxing.”
The brothers looked like boxers themselves, Lev thought: two broad-shouldered, bull-necked men with big hands. “Good, was it?” he said.
“Darkie Jenkins versus Roman Tony. We bet on Tony, being Italian like us. Odds of thirteen to one, and he knocked Jenkins out in three rounds.”
Lev sometimes struggled with formal English, but he knew the meaning of “thirteen to one.” He said: “You should come and play cards. You are… ” He hesitated, then remembered the phrase. “You are making a lucky
